


Fifty-Seven to One

by englandwouldfalljohn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ficlet, Fifty seven is the gayest number, Fluff, Iambic Pentameter, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, References to Shakespeare, Requited Love, Shakespearean Sonnets, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock Texting, Sonnets, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 03:58:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12182454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englandwouldfalljohn/pseuds/englandwouldfalljohn
Summary: A snapshot of one of Sherlock's text conversations with Irene, based on Shakespeare's Sonnet 57.





	Fifty-Seven to One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EchoSilverWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoSilverWolf/gifts).



**A lucky man, with such a clever slave.**

 

**Am I his slave because I wait to eat?**

 

**Despite the invitations that I gave**

**It’s just for John your “transport” does this feat.**

 

**It’s not as though I have a case tonight.**

 

**You don’t lament the way you used to do…**

 

**The lack of answer tells me that I’m right**

**Do you suppose he’s rushing home to you?**

 

**Wherever he may be’s not my concern**

**Though he did ask that I pick up Chinese**

**His whereabouts I’m sure I soon will learn**

**Not that my mind needs him to feel at ease**

 

**To feel at ease? Now that is something new**

**What more might Sherlock “feel” before night’s through?**

 

**Oh sod off. I’ve got to run, dim sum should be ready.**

  


“John!” Sherlock hollered up the stairs before a mess of dark curls came into view through the open sitting room door. “John, are you in? Forgot my pho--” His mouth froze around the vowel, sudden terror seizing his muscles, the takeaway carrier bag still swinging in his hand.

John’s eyes were, for the first time since their association began, unreadable.

“You left it unlocked. I didn’t mean to--” he turned to the mantle, shook his head, and sighed.

“I-I can explain. It’s--”

“I lied. Yes, I did mean to. I couldn’t take it anymore. The bloody noise. And always 57! I know what you say about the universe, yeah? So yes, I read them, because just this once, I needed to know. And now…”

Sherlock watched him weigh the device in his palm as though he wasn’t sure whether he even wanted to be touching it. The device. The machine. _His heart_.

“Are you even listening to me?”

The detective blinked, realizing he had failed to notice unshakable fingers wrapping back around the still-glowing screen.

“I said,” John repeated, a strange smirk forming across his features as he closed the distance between them, “next time you write an accidental poem about me,” he slid the mobile into the silk-lined interior pocket of a midnight blue bespoke jacket, brushing his fingertips ever so briefly against a fierce rhythmic pounding beneath the thin ribcage, “just give it to me, yeah?”

“I--” Sherlock swallowed. “I don’t underst--”

“Let me put it this way then.” John removed his own mobile from his pocket, typed quickly, and replaced it. A notification sounded just inches away. Sherlock nervously tugged his phone back out of his jacket, his eyes going wide as he read the most recent text.

 

**I’m not hungry. Dinner? xx**


End file.
